Sunday, July 8, 2012

Stand Up Paddle Boarding

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 A few years ago, I was standing on the deck of the boathouse at the Norris Reservation in Norwell, gazing at the water. I saw a lone figure approaching from upstream, but I couldn’t quite determine what it was -- too quiet for a boat, too tall for a kayak or canoe. As the figure approached, and I was able to see more clearly, I realized it was a man, standing on what looked like an oversized surfboard, paddling his way down the North River.

At the time, I figured this was just an instance of an Odd Activity Someone Invented. I didn’t know yet that Stand Up Paddle Boarding (SUP) was one of the latest trends for people who enjoy the water. I was intrigued.

For years the North and South Rivers Watershed Association has offered an array of guided paddling trips, classes, lectures, walks and other outdoor themed events. Lately the group has been expanding its offerings, and this year Stand Up Paddle Boarding was added to the schedule.

Partnering with Marshfield-based Luminate Surf & Skate, NSRWA offered a series of Stand Up Paddling classes in May and June, on the South River. Local, and run by folks I trusted, this was the perfect opportunity to try something new -- so I signed up.

The class was just before sunset on Memorial Day. We met first at Luminate so those who needed to could be fitted for wetsuits (rental was included in the cost of the program). It was overcast, damp and a bit chilly outside.

We caravanned from there to Rexhame Beach. Luminate had trailered the boards, but it was our job to carry them, and our paddles, through the dunes to the river. Even with the built-in handle, those boards – averaging about ten feet in length -- were awkward and heavy! We placed them at the water’s edge and then received a quick tutorial on how to use them.

When I signed up for the class, I’d looked online at photos of people in their bathing suits, smiling contentedly as they paddled their boards across peaceful waters. But I pictured quite a different scene for myself. It wasn’t bathing suit weather (I wore my sleeveless wetsuit with a long sleeved shirt over it). I imagined it would take some practice before I could even stand on the board, let alone smile. “Contentedly” might have to be saved for a future excursion. I expected to fall, repeatedly. But being a yoga teacher and longtime-but-still-novice kayaker, I had hopes that I would figure it out eventually.

Our guides, Jess and Oliver, instructed us to wade into the water up to our knees, cautioning us about the slippery stones underfoot. They then hopped up onto their boards, kneeling, and pushed off into the river. “Once you find your balance,” they explained, “you can bring one foot forward and stand up.”

I was a little nervous, but not wanting to be left behind, I pushed off after them, wobbling but still dry from the knees up. The board was surprisingly stable, and within a minute or two, I gingerly rose to my feet. Once we were all standing, Oliver and Jess showed us the most effective way to use the paddle. And then we set off, heading upstream.

Are you familiar with the South River? The winding stretch from Rexhame Beach upstream toward Marshfield Center is lovely. Surrounded by marsh on both sides, it offers an expansive view. The evening we were there, the tide was close to high, and the marsh grass was a rich emerald green. There was a mild breeze – just enough to keep the bugs at bay. And the mostly-still water reflected the setting sun. So serene.

Our guides led us upstream for a while, and then we turned into Clapp Creek, which flows in a zigzag pattern from a neighborhood off South River Street. By then our group of nine (a family of four, a couple, the instructors and me) had dispersed enough that each of us could have a solitary experience if we wanted to. We had chatted some while we paddled in a loose pack, but as we headed deeper into the creek, the conversations slowed.

I had to pay attention – maintaining my balance, steering the board along a winding course, making sure the paddle hit the water at the correct angle, avoiding collisions with other participants as well as the riverbanks – but the process was simple enough that I could daydream a bit as well. I’d explored this section of the river plenty of times before, but always down low, at kayak or canoe height. To be standing instead of sitting offered a refreshingly new perspective.

The creek continued to narrow, and eventually we decided to turn around. Heading back toward Rexhame, we let the distance between each paddler grow, each of us in his or her own world. Exiting the creek and heading downstream, I surveyed the scene before me: the sun setting behind Marshfield Hills, a pink-orange glow on the river, the vivid green marshes, the golden hue of the dunes. I’d tried something new, I’d enjoyed myself, and I’d managed to stay warm and dry. I’m pretty sure I was smiling contentedly.

Note: Luminate offers weekly Stand Up Paddle Boarding classes at various South Shore locations. For information, visit http://luminatesurfandskate.com or call 781-834-2755.

by Kezia Bacon
June 2012

Kezia Bacon's articles appear courtesy of the North and South Rivers Watershed Association, a local non-profit organization devoted to the preservation, restoration, maintenance and conservation of the North and South Rivers and their watershed. For membership information and a copy of their latest newsletter, contact NSRWA at (781) 659-8168 or visit www.nsrwa.org. To browse 15 years of Nature (Human and Otherwise) columns, visit http://keziabaconbernstein.blogspot.com

Monday, June 11, 2012

The Toad Trap

photo © Chris Bernstein

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On a warm day in early May, my son and his friend came barreling into the house, all excited because they’d caught a toad. “You really need to come see it, Mom!”

This past year, toad sightings have become a common occurrence around here. At least one toad (perhaps a whole family) makes its home in the rock garden at the base of our driveway. For us, toads are not difficult to find.

But to contain them? That’s another story. One day Abel – very studiously -- constructed a “toad trap” – a precarious assemblage of stacked rocks and small boards that he thought would prevent a toad from hopping away. It didn’t -- but it offered a cool, shady shelter, at least.

Abel is six. One of his favorite things to do is to make “Snake River.” There is a small patch of land between the deck and the rock garden, through which runs the shallow drainage ditch that Abel and my father dug a couple years ago. Abel likes to turn on the hose and let the water run through the ditch. Once there’s enough standing water to play in, he turns it off again.

The “river” is lined on one side with smooth stones, with a healthy swath of violets and pachysandra on the other. Toads seems to find this environment ideal, despite the plastic boats, Star Wars figures and other little-boy detritus that often can be found there. Abel’s toad trap stands on an “island” in the middle of the “river.”

Traps of rocks and wood are one thing, but those contained in buckets are another. When Abel and his friend led me out of the house and down to the banks of Snake River, they very proudly presented a 5-gallon plastic bucket, which they had outfitted with two inches of water, some rocks, and some freshly-picked grass and green leaves.

“He has food, and water, and a place to sit,” they explained. They were beaming.

I sighed inwardly. This wasn’t going to be easy.

The interior of the bucket was indeed a thoughtfully-constructed haven for a small reptile. It was also a death trap.

I looked over at Abel and his friend, so excited to have caught the toad, and so pleased with what they’d done to accommodate their new “pet.”

I looked down at the toad. It appeared to be terrified.

“Guys,” I said. “We need to talk.”

That toad might very well have been strong enough to leap out of the bucket and save himself. But maybe not.

As much as I love the fact that my son has no qualms about catching and holding -- and even playing with -- things like toads, these situations make me think hard about the line between fun and cruelty. It can be so enriching to observe nature, but once we begin to interfere with it, all sorts of ethical questions arise. In any situation, we must consider the other person (or thing) involved.

“We’re going to have to let the toad go,” I explained. “If it stays in this bucket, you will be able to play with it whenever you like, and that would be fun.”

Both of the boys were paying strict attention.

“But this toad probably has a mother and a father, a sister or a brother, or even babies of its own. And if it stays in this bucket, it won’t be able to see its family again.”

Eyes downcast, the boys nodded. They got it. There was no need to say more.

And so we tipped the bucket and set the toad free. It splashed to the middle of Snake River, a little dazed. Pausing for a couple minutes to look around, it then hopped off toward the shelter of the violet patch. I hope it comes back.

by Kezia Bacon, Correspondent
May 2012 

Kezia Bacon's articles appear courtesy of the North and South Rivers Watershed Association, a local non-profit organization devoted to the preservation, restoration, maintenance and conservation of the North and South Rivers and their watershed. For membership information and a copy of their latest newsletter, contact NSRWA at (781) 659-8168 or visit www.nsrwa.org. To browse 15 years of Nature (Human and Otherwise) columns, visit http://keziabaconbernstein.blogspot.com